Page 75 of White Lights
“But I …” Simon looks at Esther, then at Jet.
“I’m leaving in a minute, too,” Esther says, rising on her toes to give Simon a soft kiss. “Good to see you, Simon.”
Jet barely waits for Esther to turn around before he high-fives Simon. “Dude, you’d better hit that. And I need to hear all about it.”
“Gross,” Dez says.
But Simon’s laughing. Until he looks at Dez and stops. “Sorry.”
“Let’s go,” Dez says, so only Simon can hear. “Yael says you need to play drunk.”
“Right-o!” Simon cackles, and Dez gathers that he won’t have to act much.
“I thought you were going to hang out,” Jet says to Simon, almost pouting.
“She’s making me leave, man. See you tomorrow.” Simon gives Jet a sloppy, one-armed hug.
Jet keeps his eyes on Dez as he holds Simon in the embrace for longer than expected. And Dez gets the feeling maybe Rafe isn’t the only one sending his protégé mixed messages. Suddenly, she’s glad they’re leaving.
She leads Simon outside, into the cold, clean snow, where Yael taps her stiletto by the ski lift.
“Hurry up, bitches.”
“We’re coming,” Dez says, just as Jet swings out the door behind them.
“Hey, Yael,” he calls. “Where’s the after-party?”
“These clowns can’t handle Eri’s potions, Jet,” Yael says. “Time I put them to bed.”
“But the fun’s about to start,” Jet says, looking at Simon. “When we get really loose, we start speaking in Sumerian.”
“I love that.” Simon glances at Dez. “Should we stay?”
Dez smacks him. She doesn’t know what spooked Yael, but the look on her face, and the thinly veiled predatory vibes Jet’s giving off are enough to make Dez French exit, no questions asked.
“Ow.” Simon flinches. “What? It’s the oldest attested languageandan isolate. No linguistic relatives!”
“Come on, Yael,” Jet says, ambling down the porch stairs. “Let them stay. Let them play—”
“Another time,” Yael says.
Jet leans forward and whispers something to Yael, his blue and black eyes running over Simon, then Dez.
“Not yet,” Yael hisses at Jet, shoving him away.
And then Rafe is there, putting a hand on Jet’s shoulder, drawing him back. Rafe says nothing as he and Jet return to the bar, but he glances back over his shoulder with a look so smoldering it’s all Dez can do not to follow.
“YOUR MENTOR IS ONE TWISTEDfuck,” Yael says, fixing her hair in her phone’s camera as the three of them ride the quiet chair lift down the steep cliffs of the mountain.
“Come on, he’slugal,” Simon says, leaning into the viewfinder of Yael’s camera like they’re posing for a selfie. “Which is Sumerian for ‘big man,’ or ‘king.’”
“You don’t know him like I do,” Yael says, elbowing Simon away. “And you can drop the drunk act. That was just our out from the party.”
“I think he’s actually drunk,” Dez says. “Why did you make us leave?”
“Because the two of you are unequipped for the after-hours scene at Acheron.”
“So what?” Dez says. “It’s an orgy. Big deal.”
